Retrograde
by LovelyLittleFreckle
Summary: Red and Liz pass the time in their shipping container on the way to Spain. One shot. Lizzington. NSFW.


Mercury was retrograde that night they spent on the ocean; she hadn't remembered until they were standing under the stars, adrift in the inky black chop with no point of reference save for where the stars met the sea.

Aunt June had always been incredibly superstitious about the stars and although Sam had scoffed at her, his sweet sister who talked too much, Liz had always felt a kinship with her and her witchy mysticism. Even then, as a little girl, the idea of chaos reigning over the heavens had intrigued her. Many nights she could be found on the porch, lying flat on her back under the Nebraska sky and she would revel in the feeling for a while of being untethered. Forces were at work that she could not control and instead of triggering fear, it sent a small thrill down her spine. Somewhere in the rhythm of the surf was Aunt June's voice, rippling toward her on the wind. _No big decisions until Mercury is set back to rights, Elizabeth. Nothing will go as planned._

"It's strange," Liz said, the last swallow of wine still on her lips as she glanced back at Red's upturned face. "You can look at the same stars every night. You can see the sky from anywhere but you can't see most of this until it's just you and them, no lights, no interference."

"That would have been another benefit of a life at sea," Red said pensively, his head falling into its signature thoughtful tilt. "Getting to see this display any night I wanted." His hand grazed her wrist as he reached for her empty wine glass. She followed him back into the warmly lit container and closed the doors behind them against the breeze.

"It would have been lonely, though," she said, tucking her leg under herself as she settled back into the couch. "I mean, I know you're a loner, but I think it would probably drive you crazy after a while, penned up here by yourself."

Red smirked as he returned to sit with her, having put another carefully chosen bottle of wine in the refrigerator to chill. He sat facing her, his arm sprawled casually against the back of the couch. "For all of your remarkable skills as a profiler, Lizzie, I have to say you're off the mark there." She turned her chin away from him, as if repelled by the thought, but her eyes stayed locked with his.

"Are you saying you don't like to be alone?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in genuine curiosity.

"I don't find that I prefer it," he answered. "I enjoy company more often than not; someone to share stories with, to discuss things. To debrief about a given day's events. I value very highly the importance of a good sounding board."

"Sounds like a marriage," she said with a smile, a seeping warmth trickling over her voice.

"Well, I doubt Dembe sees it that way." They laughed; and it set off a riptide of bubbling, tickling laughter in Lizzie that eased her soul, the act itself massaging a place in her that had long needed release. Their laughter tapered off into comfortable silence, and she took a moment to think about what it might be like to be Red's constant companion. So far, it didn't seem too terrible if one could forget the air of imminent danger and secrecy.

But if she was being honest, even then it wasn't so bad. At least it wasn't at the moment.

"So if I was wrong about you being a loner, what else was I wrong about?" Liz asked.

"Not a fan of noodle shops," Red replied with an impish smile as he drained what was left of his wine. Liz watched his lips, the clear glass providing a little window as the wine passed over them. How many times she'd imagined herself in the place of that wine glass, she'd lost count. Thinking about it made a prideful part of her gut writhe. So many times she'd been mad at him, distrusted him… and even still, her mind would wander to the little parts of him she hadn't uncovered yet, as if she were taunting herself. Sometimes even more so when she was angry with him, she found her mind wandering to what it might be like to feel him powerless underneath her. And every time it had sparked an ember, threatening to burst into flame with just the right breath.

And the alcohol certainly wasn't helping. He knew so much about her that she'd felt half-clothed in his presence since the moment they met. Evening the score seemed almost attainable now and she wasn't going to stop until she found the little corners of what he was hiding from her. If she was going to be exposed, by god, he would be too.

"Come on, be serious," she said, her voice longing and hungry. "Tell me what else you think I got wrong."

"What exactly would you like to know, Lizzie?" he asked, his gaze plunging well past her throat.

"How did you know my parents?" She said it almost in jest, knowing that he wasn't going to answer. But she knew that in any bargain you had to aim high to settle somewhere in the middle. And unlike the other times she'd been so direct, he smiled softly in response and leaned forward.

"About my profile," he said in a whisper, as if they were conspiring. "For once let's not discuss the large questions, let's start small."

"Doesn't sound nearly as interesting," Liz said, settling back in feigned disinterest.

"Then let's _make_ it interesting," Red said, getting up to return to the bar. He opened a drawer with a firm clunk followed by a faint clinking of glass. As if with no effort at all, his hands emerged carrying an impressive number of sturdy shot glasses. For all the adornments he'd clearly selected for this container, the glasses were shockingly… standard. Weighty, curved at the bottom with a little brown line where a responsible person might stop pouring. He placed a row of glasses in front of her, and another in front of himself.

"You aren't serious, is this a drinking game?" Liz said, a lively smile curling her lips.

"Why, do you have somewhere to be?" he asked as he unstopped the top of a decanter with a dampened _thunk_. She watched as he poured rich looking liquid into each shot glass, filling them well past the hatch mark and to the brim – of course he did, anything worth doing was worth overdoing. "You take a guess about me. If you're wrong, you drink… if you're right, I drink. Then we take turns."

"So… a profiling drinking game," she said, straightening her row of shot glasses. "Amateur versus professional. You're willing to agree to that handicap?"

He hummed his confirmation, his eyes ablaze with mischief.

"Alright," she said, her eyes darting to the ceiling as if she would find some inspiration there. She let her eyes linger on the lighted sconces behind him as she thought about where to start. "I am going to guess that you were expelled from school growing up."

Red blurted out an honest laugh, one that lolled his head back as a memory clearly swept over him. He shook his head a moment, letting his laughter subside. She'd seen that look so often when he was amused with himself.

"What's so funny?" Liz asked.

"On what do you base that assumption?" he asked.

"On what do I base-", she started, scoffing mid-sentence at the audacity of his challenge. "You're Raymond Reddington! You think the rules don't apply to you, you're cunning and insubordinate; generally, those traits manifest young and they result in disciplinary action. You're telling me you were never expelled from school?" She was nearly incredulous. He gestured down to the row of shot glasses in front of her.

"Drink up Lizzie. Suspension, and only once," he said. "Top of my class in the naval academy, or don't you remember the one accolade I earned in the eyes of the law?"

"OK then, what were you suspended for?" she asked.

"Ah-ah," he warned, pointing again to her row of liquor. "I believe it's my turn. If you'll do the honors, we can proceed." The liquor seared like a flame down her throat and settled heavy in her chest, making her cough and shudder. It tasted all the more like a punch to the gullet after sipping chardonnay all evening, Red finally surrendering to her preference. She had no idea what this was; part of her was afraid to ask. But she forgot all about it when he smiled at her before taking his turn.

"I'm going to bet that when you were in high school, you were on the debate team," Red said, eliciting a crooked smile from Liz.

"Drink up, Raymond." His real, full name slipped past her tingling lips and it felt strange. It _sounded_ strange. Without a flinch and without taking his eyes off hers, he raised a glass to his lips and gulped down the liquid as easy as if it has been water.

"Cheer squad, if you can believe it," she said, speaking down her nose, putting on a faux air of haughtiness.

"Go then, your turn," he said, taking a shot and then motioning for her to hurry. "Because now I have more questions." They both laughed, neither of them particularly surprised at his piqued interest.

"Alright I'll make a deal with you," she said, curiosity now getting the best of her as well. "I'll take a shot if you tell me outright why you were suspended."

"Alright Elizabeth, you have a deal," he said. She slugged down another shot of the liquid that was beginning to taste like some sinister tincture, medicinal and pungent. "I was caught in a compromising position with Patty Sutton under the bleachers. It was fantastic and, god… worth it. Looking back, wouldn't change a thing." He looked away, mischief tinged with melancholy, before turning his eyes back to her.

Liz rolled her eyes in mock disgust. "Of course you got caught fooling around under the bleachers."

"That doesn't seem the proper term for it really," he said, biting his lip thoughtfully.

"OK, playing grab ass then?" she offered.

"Oh it was much more than that," he said, chuckling naughtily.

"You weren't seriously having sex. Under the bleachers." She felt scandalized but still amused.

"Well, some of us weren't as interested in pep rallies," he said, taunting her a bit.

"Ha ha. Very funny," she said, her laugh dry and conceited. "Truth be told? I would have rather been doing that then cheerleading."

"Alright then Elizabeth," he said, lifting a shot glass off the table and crossing his legs casually like he had upon their first meeting. "I will take a shot if you tell me how in the hell you ended up a cheerleader. I'm guessing there's a story there."

"Jackie Adams is how I ended up being a cheerleader," Liz said as she watched him drink. God she hadn't thought about that name in a decade.

"Ah," Red said, looking like he'd figured something out. "The quarterback, I would gather?"

"You know what, you can drink _again_ for that one," Liz said, pointing at his row of liquor as they shared another amiable chuckle. "Jackie Adams was a girl in my Spanish class. She told me that I would make an awful cheerleader… 'the world's worst' may have been her exact words. I had joked about trying out for the squad, just offhand to a couple of my friends… but her reaction made me so mad. It made me feel like I had to prove her wrong. So I got up early every day for two months, went to practice at six in the morning, showed up and tried my absolute hardest until I made the squad – and I couldn't wait to have the last laugh, having proved her wrong. It wasn't until I was on the bus to cheer camp that summer that I realized the joke was probably on me." She smiled broadly, reveling in how it felt to stretch her cheeks. She hadn't felt this good in days.

"I could think of no more distinctive a reason for you to have ended up a cheerleader," he said. "I'm not sure where that leaves us but you can go ahead," he said.

"OK, easy one," she said with impish confidence. "I am going to guess that Patty Sutton was not your first."

"Ah wrong again," he said.

"Damn it!"

"You clearly over estimate my teenage charm," he said. "I was not one to play the field back in those days. It was mostly Patty's fault too… through no fault of her _own_ per se. She caught my eye on our first day of school and that was it for me. I wasn't going to rest until she was mine." The way he said the word "mine" was so possessive and reverent, a near growl that stole a beat from Liz's pulse. "I have no idea how I let myself set my sights so high – she was so beautiful. I don't know what she was doing with me, but I was lucky to spend the time that I did with her." His eyes grew distant and he chewed the inside of his lip the way he did when he went quiet. She felt him leave her there, vanish for a moment into ether. Where did he go when he was thinking?

"What happened?" Liz asked, feeling herself leaning toward him, her chest ringing with a sudden affection for him that she couldn't rationalize.

"She died in a car crash our junior year. A freak accident that no one was really able to explain; the entire town was like a mausoleum for months afterward. Everyone just adored her; it was painful to be so young and not know what to do with all the grief. All the pity." A grimace narrowed his eyes as he shook his head, his chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. "I stayed in touch with her mother for many years after but she died while I was in the academy."

"Oh my god. Red, I'm so sorry." He nodded in acknowledgement; what more was there to offer, really?

"It's been a long, long time since then. Truly it feels like some kind of dream, and it pales in comparison to the grief I've experienced since – but there is something about your first love. And when it's coupled with your first loss, it's all the more excruciating."

"I can't imagine," Lizzie said, breathless. "It explains a lot about you, actually. Your dedication to the people you love, the risk taking, your desire to seize the moment."

"It's never been much of a mystery to me, those tendencies," he said, a small smile creeping again over his face, thawing the spell that had laid claim to his face and warped his features. And suddenly she felt guilty for making him relive that hurt, though certainly it hadn't been the first time she'd demanded he do so. Getting what she wanted felt hollow now, knowing the sadness it uncovered.

"You can ask me anything," Liz said, offering her words carefully, like a tiny breakable thing. "Ask me anything you want and I'll answer it." She lifted a shot glass and then nodded at him, an invitation to drink together.

"Why did you kill Tom Connolly?" he asked and again a stillness washed over them like frost. "You've encountered so many monsters in the time we've worked together, and even before. What was it that made you pull the trigger?" His eyes narrowed with genuine interest, searching hers for a reaction. She could tell he had been thinking about it – truthfully, she had too. The question had been the air they breathed since she called him from that alleyway in a clutching panic – though neither had really acknowledged it outright.

"He threatened people I love… by name," she said choosing her words haltingly, her voice nearly a whisper. "I listened to him detail how he was going to neutralize everyone on the task force, discredit them, destroy their careers. And then he threatened your life. Told me that he would make sure you got the death penalty. That's when I stopped… seeing. And I knew I couldn't let him live. And I wouldn't rest until he was dead."

Red looked brokenhearted as he shook his head, but something close to amazement followed behind. A question formed on his lips without ever quite escaping. _You killed him because of me?_ She knew what he was asking without needing him to speak, and mustering up all her courage, she nodded. She was terrified that the little window she'd opened into his heart would slam shut, that it would scare him away like a stray cat that she had finally coaxed to her lap, startled by a sudden movement. _I'm serious, you can never do that again. Promise me._

Unconsciously, she held her breath. Waiting for him to tell her she was wrong to do it. That _he_ was to protect _her_ and that she should never risk _her_ life for _his_ , no matter how sure she was that she had done what she felt was right. It seemed for all the world like she was about to backslide alone, down the heights they had climbed.

"I've done the same myself, and many more times," he said finally. "Killed to protect the ones that I love. You hate for their lives to depend on something so…" and he searched carefully for the word: brutal. He worked his lip between his teeth, his eyes still far away. "But I'd do it again. As much as it pains me to know that I was a part of the choice you made..." he looked down, unable to face it although he was trying.

"I know what you said the last time…" Lizzie started.

"I know," he said, both of them remembering the night of the King Auction when he had scolded her, teary-eyed, for saving his life. "I've thought of what you did for me that night and my reaction to it many times. It's hard for me to not see you as someone who needs protecting, Lizzie. It's the way I've seen you all these years. But now that I know you and I can see that we are equals in many ways, I can see that…" and he drifted away again.

"What?" she asked, not breathing again, the word half strangled in her throat. _Don't send me away. Not again._

"I shouldn't…"

She glanced down at their last shots.

"The last shot. And you finish that sentence."

They drained the little glasses and Red gathered them back up, putting them back on the little bar and returning to take a seat next to her. He picked up her hand and enveloped it in his.

"I can see that the darkness that I always worried would find you… it didn't affect you the way it did when it came for me. I lost all hope the moment that it found me. I let it turn me into… this. And here you are, still hopeful, still with a light left that allows you to dream. God, I envy that, Lizzie. The ability to see the future, to hope for it."

"You don't have to envy it," she said. "If there is light at the end of the tunnel for me then there is for you too."

"I think I've had all the love in my life that I was allowed," he said. He sounded resigned, resolute. And the lack of any sadness in his voice chilled her to the bone.

"But it's not up to you," she said. "You can't know what fate has in store for you, nobody can."

"It's not for lack of wanting. I just haven't been able to picture myself being loved for these last 25 years. I gave up that possibility. I've grown used to this," he said, gesturing to the walls, reminding her that they were adrift in the sea.

"Is it because you don't think you deserve it?" She remembered asking him that night; a challenge, an indictment. But now her voice was earnest; she felt like she was asking him if he wanted to go on living. She grasped his hands in hers. _Tell me you want to._

He shook his head, thoughtfully. "I couldn't possibly ask anyone to live this way with me. It would take a lifetime from them. From you."

"You don't get to decide whether or not I'm allowed to love you," she said, the words slipping past her lips before she realized just how much she meant them.

"I didn't say anything about you loving me," he said, squinting at her in confusion. "I wouldn't presume…"

"I do," she said, and reached out to touch his cheek, to feel it's rugged plane against her palm. "I love you, Raymond. I need you to know that."

It felt like the earth stopped, and reversed on its axis. She didn't need him to say it back; she already knew. And she had no words left to offer that were going to mitigate what she'd just confessed. She did love him. There was no use explaining it away. There was no use dressing it up or obscuring it. It simply… was.

"I've loved you for so long, Lizzie," he said, shaking his head as though trying to clear a fog, searching her face for something she hoped he would find. "I've spent years worried about what that would mean for you. I've been terrified."

"Trouble found me long before you did," she said. "I was born into trouble. You of all people should know that."

She waited to feel the sting of his hesitation. Instead she found his eyes covetous and bright with hope like she'd never seen, if even just for a moment. Was he trying to memorize her face like she was his? Was he trying to commit this moment to memory just like she was?

She captured his lips with hers, savoring them for a moment although they were still, so still under hers. She cherished the warmth of his skin, the supple sound of their lips parting as she pulled away. She felt her heart flinch at the notion of finding regret etched across his face but found instead his eyes hooded with a lust that couldn't have been far below the surface all this time.

"I've wanted you, this whole time I've…" he said, unable to find more words. "I've wanted you, Lizzie."

The way he kissed her felt like conversation. Their lips glided, warm and tender, saying what they couldn't. _I found you. I found you at last. After all this time you're here with me._ Her mouth was tingling drunk and the tip of her tongue could taste the last hints of the smoky liquid on his lips. He grasped the back of her neck and drew his thumb across her throat, holding her in his grasp like a breakable, precious thing. She felt his fingers against her pulse and wondered if he could feel it racing, thrumming wildly with excitement.

She moved to sit astride his lap, needing to be closer, to feel more of his body against hers. He guided her leg over him, grasping on to her thigh and tucking the back of her knee close to him. His hands nestled between the thin, gossamer cotton of her shirt and the bare skin of her back. She broke their kiss to remove her shirt, tugging the hem over her head and throwing it behind her. The faint amber glow of the lights drew out the things she'd always admired about his face and she ran her fingers over the curves of his cheeks, the bend of his jaw, the ridge of his chin.

"God, you're handsome," she whispered, her inhibitions blurred from alcohol and awe. He smiled at her, confident but clearly flattered beyond his usual composure.

"The light in here does miraculous things," he said, and she smiled against his lips as he haphazardly kissed the corner of her mouth. He ran his fingers down the sides of her ribs, over the soft skin of her flank and dug his fingers into the flesh of her hips, using his grasp to bring her up off his lap. The muscles of her stomach trembled visibly under his lips as he pressed them, slippery and warm, to her skin.

"I'd do anything for you Lizzie," he said, pressing his cheek to the soft flesh of her belly while he spoke, listening to the whoosh of her heartbeat against his ear. She drew her fingers over and over his scalp, the stubble rendering her fingertips pleasantly numb. "But I have to know you're sure. Forgive me if it seems formal but I'm having a hard time believing I'm not imagining this. You, here with me. You can let me down easy, but you'll need to do it soon. Because we can't go back..."

"I don't want to go back," she said, shaking her head. And she placed her fingers under his chin, tilting his face to look at her. "I don't care what we were to each other. I care who we are now. Both of us. I know what I want Red and it's you."

His smile turned from disbelief to utter abandon. Their kissing became desperate and frantic as they fell into a natural rhythm, standing up to gain access to each other's various buttons and zippers. As their brief parting became necessary to undress each other, they whispered to each other though their chests heaved and their breathing quickened. _I've wanted you so badly. I never knew you felt this too._

Toward the back of the container there was a small alcove with a bed, and they made their way there through a tangle of limbs and discarded clothing. But, in their fumbling, she'd ended up far more exposed; her fingers had a habit of wandering and exploring at the exclusion of getting down to the business at hand. She wanted to touch his face, feel the broadness of his back against her palms, as the prickling of a desperate sweat bloomed on her skin. It wasn't until she was naked in his arms that she carefully unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it from his shoulders, revealing his broad, strong chest splayed across with sun-weathered flesh and soft curls of hair. What she loved most was what made him real to her, the things she's never truly let her imagination form. The soft curve of his belly, the delicate wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that she kissed over and over and over, stretching up to reach them on the tips of her toes. She wanted to remember the way their bare skin felt against each other for as long as she could, the way his hands felt spread across her breasts, his rough thumbs against her nipples.

He hitched her knee up toward his still-clothed hip, and backed her up to the bed, forcing her to sit.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, trembling at the feeling of his breath against her naked sex. She looked down to find a sprawling pink web of burns stretching across his back. Before she could stop herself, she let out a gasp. He stopped dead and looked up at her from the horizon of her own skin.

"Is this… from…" she began to ask.

"Yes," he answered plainly, knowing what she was asking. If they were from the fire. _Their_ fire.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, ghosting her fingers over the scars, carefully as though they were fire themselves. Her eyes stung with the beginning dew of tears.

"Not anymore," he said, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he pressed open mouthed kisses into her thighs. He grasped her hand and turned it over to look at her wrist. "Does yours?"

"No, not anymore," she said, blinking back the moisture clouding her vision. The intimacy of baring their scars to each other made her feel like she was trying to contain a supernova within her ribcage. He'd loved her. He'd loved her all along.

He touched her with such reverence she felt like some sort of museum display, all delicate fingers and soft kisses. All it did was left her throbbing.

"You've waited long enough, you don't have to keep denying yourself, you don't have to be careful with me," she said. "You're not going to break me."

"No, but you might break me," he said, chuckling as he reached up to place a kiss below her navel.

"I'll be gentle," she said, frisky but sincere. She raised her hips until he had no choice but to cover her with his mouth. An indulgent moan wrenched from her throat as he buried his face against her, lapping his tongue over her again and again. She drew ragged breaths, trying to grasp a hold of him anywhere she could. Her fingers found the back of his head and pressed him close. And suddenly it washed over her, an obvious but all consuming realization: Raymond Reddington was hers. And she was his. She came in wave after wave, like fireworks were being pulled from her body by force. It felt like she would shake apart from the tremors, her thighs squeezing against his ears as if he was all that tethered her to the earth.

She was winded and wobbly, and then she saw him draw his tongue over his lips, catching his breath in the cushion of her thighs. He drew his tongue one last time over the swollen bud between her legs, between the slick folds of flesh and she curled toward him, somehow more desperate with wanting him.

"I think I'll remember that taste forever," he said, the growl of his voice so low it rattled what was left of her apart. "Sensational."

Suddenly she could not get close enough to him – she felt desperate for him in a way that made no sense, that was impossible and ravenous. It wasn't enough to feel his body, she wanted something close to absorption, an entanglement so tight she'd forget where she began. Breath and blood and flesh and bone. She wanted to feel a part of him until it was his heart fluttering in her ribcage. She wanted to feel his very soul between her teeth.

As he stood in front of her, she buried her fingers under the elastic of his waistband and wrenched it free like tearing open a gift. Her breath hitched in her chest as she looked at him, naked in front of her and tangible. So warm and exposed… and real. She let her eyes rise to meet his and instead of letting her awed silence linger, she drew her tongue over the length of him, tracing a long, prominent, lavender vein with her tongue.

"Oh god," he whispered, twitching as she swirled her tongue over his tip. "Maybe another time. If you keep that up, you're going to have me at a disadvantage." She laughed at the wording, knowing what he meant past all the formality. He'd been wanting her too long.

He put a hand under her head, and steadied himself with the other. He was flushed and glistening with sweat, his brow furrowed in concentration as he hovered for a moment above her, watching intently where their bodies met. She reached up to touch his forehead, running her thumb over the crease that had formed on his brow, relaxing the muscles underneath. His eyes found hers, full of passion and desperation.

"Relax, Raymond," she said, looking up at him breathlessly. And with his eyes still locked on hers, he buried himself within her. He watched as her eyes rolled back and fluttered closed. Their lips met in distracted kisses, over and over again as they found a rhythm, mouths agape upon whatever skin they could reach. His breath wove itself into the strands of her blonde hair, still heady with the scent of dye… and they whispered their love like a prayer. The salt and sweat made their lips too slick to gain a hold and he settled instead for grasping what flesh he could between his teeth – the fattest part of her lip, the plump bulb of her earlobe. Her whole body felt stretched wide open, her tender muscles threatening to clamp down at any moment and force him deeper, deeper into her heaving core. She reached nearer and nearer, whimpering and grasping. And finally she felt her body curl and ripple, constricting around him like a snake and then releasing in waves and waves and waves. She was helpless in his arms.

And in a faint, ragged breath he said her name. _Lizzie._ She mustered what strength she had left and clutched his back tightly, feeling his scars against her palms, pressing his body close against her as he came. A gushing warmth lingered between them as they laid there, her breasts pressed against his bare chest as they breathed together and he went soft inside her. Their kisses were less hurried now, long and languid and slow. They sat up until they were back where they started, Liz astride his lap, his face buried between her breasts. The nape of his neck smelled comforting and familiar. Like cedar and smoke and earth. He was everything around her and she relished the feeling for as long as he would let her.

She felt a lingering slickness between her legs and all at once it hit her.

"Red," she said, still nestled into his neck. He hummed an acknowledgement, his thumb stroking her bare back. "I think we forgot something." For a few seconds he went on stroking her back until she pulled back to look at him and each one searched the other for any trace of fear, of regret. Finding none, at least for now, they collapsed into each other again to savor the way their bodies felt together until their sweat turned cold and sleep lulled their breath slowly, and then easily together.


End file.
